


Sugared Strawberries

by rosegoldroman



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, me an angst gremlin: o h?, ollie: heres a fluffy prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 18:11:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19773637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegoldroman/pseuds/rosegoldroman
Summary: Before — before there was a divide between the light and dark sides, before the mindscape split in two, before Virgil was alone — Patton made sugared strawberries. Virgil loved them, not for the taste but for the memories they made, his family gathered in the kitchen around him, love and light and warmth.Then he became Anxiety, and everything changed. Patton stopped making sugared strawberries.But redemption brings a lot of things — some new and some old and some so familiar he can barely stand it. When he walks into the kitchen one morning to find Patton covered in sugar, a tray of strawberries in his hands, he finally realizes:He has a family again.





	Sugared Strawberries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aliferously](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliferously/gifts).



> ayyyyyyyyy this fic is inspired by a prompt by my amazing friend ollie (@aliferously here and @aliferous-ly on tumblr) (prompt is here: https://aliferous-ly.tumblr.com/post/186193306327/how-about-strawberries) 
> 
> THANK U ollie for letting me write this !!! i had so much funnnnnn
> 
> i hope you enjoy ! :)

Virgil didn’t remember much about his childhood.

That whole thing about childhood mental illnesses causing memory problems? He  _ was _ a childhood mental illness. That held doubly true for him. He remembered parts, bits and pieces, and knew of others, a patchwork mess of information given to him by the others that he couldn’t even trust, fully, because more than half had been stitched together by Deceit himself.

He knew that there hadn’t been such a divide between the light sides and the Others, once. He knew that there had been sleepovers and movie nights and birthday parties, that they’d all been a family, each of them, light and dark and everything in between. Patton still had pictures hanging in his room; Deceit in a snake onesie, wrapped in blankets, and Remus with a tiny, drawn-on mustache, and himself, open and smiling and unafraid, surrounded by love.

He knew that, the moment Thomas hit middle school, everything changed forever.  _ The Great Schism,  _ Roman called it, ignoring Logan’s lectures on the historical and religious significance of the title. A divide, a split, cleaving one world into two.

He knew that everything changed the moment Caution became Anxiety.

Because that was when the world went from  _ scary _ to  _ bad wrong terrifying — _ and that was when he decided he had to keep Thomas from it all, keep Thomas  _ safe _ , no matter what. That was when Thomas realized some parts of his personality weren’t “good,” and they woke up to find the mindscape split in two. 

He didn’t remember much from before that moment, that split — but there was one memory he refused to forget, one that you couldn’t pry from his cold, dead fingers: sugared strawberries.

They had been Patton’s favorite, way back when. He used to gather all the sides in the kitchen and present them like they were the greatest treasure on earth, crystalline berries as valuable as gold. Roman — just Imagination back then, a tiny spitfire in a Disney prince Halloween costume — even made up a song for them; he’d dance around the kitchen, twirling any sides unlucky enough to be within reach.

Virgil would stand in the doorway, shoving as many strawberries as he could into his mouth at once. Patton would laugh, handing him more and more. “They’re not going anywhere, kiddo, no need to rush!” he’d say.

Then the Schism happened.

Patton stopped making sugared strawberries.

Virgil remembered what came after with all the clarity he wished he had for the memories before. The cold, the quiet, the emptiness that came with being banished to the dark side of the mindscape. Deceit grew distant, furious, and blamed Patton with all his might. “He’s right and wrong, Anxiety!” he used to rant, every opportunity he got, and he’d lie and say the tears pooling in his eyes were from fury, not sorrow. “Sure, he’s  _ definitely _ not the cause of Thomas thinking we’re wrong.”

And Virgil — Anxiety couldn’t, couldn’t believe that Patton would do such a thing. He’d always been so… so  _ nice. _ Even when Anxiety’s warnings turned from cautious to borderline cruel, he’d always been patient and loving and kind. Unless he was faking it — maybe he was, maybe he’d been faking it the whole time, sunshine and sugared strawberries to hide hatred for a side that he didn’t need anymore, didn’t want anymore — and suddenly Anxiety believed, believed with all his heart that he was  _ wrong _ and Patton had done it on purpose.

The worst part was that Anxiety couldn’t even blame him.

The Others tried, for a while, to maintain the same level of warmth they’d had before — but they just weren’t built for that sort of thing. After all, how could something so  _ wrong _ pretend to be right? Even Deceit couldn’t manage that for long. It was too hard to stave off the cold and the dark, and the creeping feeling of  _ wrong _ that never quite left them alone; eventually they just gave up.

Anxiety retreated into himself. He ignored Deceit’s futile attempts at keeping them together, and avoided Remus like the plague — without his brother there to reign him in, the Duke became unhinged, distant,  _ terrifying _ in the worst kind of way — and pretended like he didn’t care. Like he didn’t miss the warmth, the happiness, that he knew he’d once had. 

But he  _ did. _ It was like a part of him had been torn away, and he ached with every memory that faded, every bit of warmth he lost. He missed watching movies with Imagination and listening to Curiosity read aloud, and he missed missed  _ missed _ Patton’s hugs, and his smile, and —

He missed sugared strawberries.

Years passed. Curiosity became Logic and then became Logan; Imagination became Creativity and then Roman. The world became bigger,  _ scarier, _ as Thomas was thrust into adulthood, and Anxiety forwent any and all chances of being loved in favor of being  _ feared. _ He had to protect the one thing that still mattered to him. And if that meant he had to be too scary to ignore, then… so be it.

Sometimes he snuck down into the common room, late at night, and tried to recreate the sugared strawberries. He never could. Patton had made them with love — and Anxiety, he didn’t have any of that left to give. They never tasted the same. He always got it  _ wrong. _

Eventually, he stopped trying.

He just didn’t see the point. Even if he got the recipe right — which he never, never would — he’d still be alone. They’d never taste exactly as he remembered if they didn’t come with a bright grin from Patton, or a one-armed hug from Roman as he danced around the kitchen, or the warmth and light and happiness he knew he’d never get again. 

That was just the way things were. He was Anxiety — a villain, a dark side, an Other, hated by every person he’d once loved, hated by the one person he was supposed to protect. There was nothing he could do to fix that. There was nothing he could do to change that.

The one thing he could do was  _ leave. _

And then — to his great, great surprise — he was proven wrong. Things  _ changed. _ Anxiety became Virgil and Virgil became wanted, needed,  _ loved _ in ways he hadn’t thought possible. He woke one morning to find that his room was back in the light side; that instead of the silence he’d grown so used to, he could hear Roman and Logan playfully arguing downstairs, and Patton singing to himself as he bustled around the kitchen. 

He made sure to wipe the stupid smile off his face before he went downstairs. He couldn’t let them  _ see _ how happy they made him. That would ruin his Aesthetic™.

“Virgil!” Roman cried when he appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “Virgil, would you  _ please _ tell  _ nerd _ mione over here to turn off his  _ nerd _ show so I can watch Lilo and Stitch?”

“Roman, you have a television in your room,” Logan interrupted before Virgil could speak, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I am not turning off my documentary so you can watch your nonsensical Disney movie for the hundredth time.”

“‘Nonsensical?’ How  _ dare _ you! Lilo and Stitch is a cinematic masterpiece! And I’ll have you know, I’ve seen it at  _ least _ three-hundred times!” Roman scoffed, offended. “Besides, you’re all down here and my room is up there! I want to watch it  _ here.” _

“Then you will have to wait.” Logan shot Virgil a look —  _ can you believe this guy? _ he said with a quirk of his brow — and Virgil rolled his eyes, a fond smirk slipping into place. “Why don’t you try watching this with me? Maybe you’ll learn something. Newton knows you need it.”

“B-to-the-oring!” Roman scoffed, rolling his eyes and throwing his whole body into the action, hip jutting out to the side. Then he blinked. “Wait, what was that last bit?”

Virgil snickered into the back of his hand and moved on into the kitchen, where he leaned against the doorway, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Patton stood at the counter, bouncing in place to the happy tune he hummed as he made… something. Virgil couldn’t see past him. “Morning, Pat,” he said, and Patton whirled around, his bright smile lighting up the whole room.

“Virgil!” he said happily, beaming. “G’morning, kiddo! How’re ya doin’?” His hands were covered in something white and powdery; it fluttered to the floor around him like snow as he flapped while he talked. Virgil shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“I’m alive,” he said. “You?”

“I’m doin’ great!” he said. “Making a certain  _ sweet _ surprise for someone I love  _ berry _ much.” He winked, giggled, and turned back to whatever it was he was making. Virgil blinked, pushing away from the wall to go look over Patton’s shoulder, but before he could Patton turned around, holding a tray laden with small berries.

Virgil forgot how to breathe.

“I haven’t made these in forever,” Patton said, his grin warm and welcoming, “but I remembered how much you used to love ‘em, and I figured I’d whip a couple up to celebrate your  _ growth! _ To let you  _ seed _ how  _ berry _ proud I am of you.”

“Oh,” Virgil managed, and he knew he should have said more, he knew he should do  _ something, _ but he’d forgotten how to exist in the face of something he’d wanted,  _ needed, _ for so so long. Sugared strawberries. Patton had made sugared strawberries — for  _ him, _ Patton made sugared strawberries for  _ him, _ and he knew he’d been accepted but it hadn’t  _ hit _ him, really, until that moment. 

He had a family again.

“Kiddo?” Patton’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m — I’m  _ good,” _ he said, and meant so much by it that he almost choked. “I mean — I’m —”

Shit shit  _ shit — _ he swiped at his eyes with his sleeve and looked away, face burning. Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes faster than he could wipe them away. Patton made a small noise of understanding and put the tray back on the counter, rushing forward to scoop Virgil into a hug.

And that was too much. The dam broke, and suddenly he was sobbing into Patton’s shoulder, even as every instinct in him  _ screamed _ at him to  _ stop, stop showing them how much it means to you, stop giving them power. _ Patton rubbed soft circles across his back and whispered comfort into his ear. “I’ve gotcha,” he said, softer than Virgil had ever heard him. “It’s okay. It’s all okay.”

Virgil heard Logan and Roman come into the kitchen and he clutched the back of Patton’s shirt harder, burying his face in his shoulder. He couldn’t — couldn’t face them, couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t push away the burning  _ hope _ eating through his lungs, try as he might. He had a family again.  _ He had a family again.  _ The thought refused to stop running through his mind, a mantra, neverending.  _ He had a family again. _

Eventually, finally, the tears slowed. He could breathe again. He pushed out of Patton’s embrace and swiped his sleeve across his face, cheeks burning bright red. “Sorry,” he managed, his voice gruff. “I’ll just — I’ll just go —”

“Oh no you don’t, Green Gay,” Roman said, blocking the doorway. “We’re having an emotional moment here!”

“Ew,” Logan and Virgil said in unison. 

“Kiddo, it’s okay,” Patton said gently, setting a sugary hand on his shoulder. “You’re safe here.”

“Right — yeah.” Virgil cleared his throat, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. He searched the room for something,  _ anything _ to say to break the tension building in his chest. “You… you got sugar on my hoodie.”

Patton giggled. “Now it matches your  _ sweet _ personality!”

“Lies and slander,” Virgil said. “I’m not sweet.”

“Falsehood,” Logan said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re covered in sugar.”

“That’s —” Virgil cut himself off, pressing his lips into a thin line to keep from smiling. “Yep.”

Roman slung an arm over his shoulder, squeezing him in a one-armed hug, and Patton grabbed the tray. “You want some?” he asked with a warm smile, as Roman reached over and grabbed a handful.

And Virgil took a breath and reached forward, gathering a pile of strawberries in his hand. He shoved them into his mouth and nearly burst into tears again at the taste — or, rather, at the memories it invoked, at the warmth that once again surrounded him, enveloped him, filled him. 

“No need to rush, kiddo!” Patton said with a laugh, as Virgil shoved more strawberries into his mouth. “They’re not going anywhere.”

And this time, Virgil knew they weren’t.


End file.
